Blue Dragon 7
Blue Dragon 7 is an encounter in Civil War. Enemies * Royal Sentry (120 Gold, 120 XP, 120 Energy, 2/4/4 HP) * Royal Guardsman (150 Gold, 150 XP, 150 Energy, 1/3/3 HP) Transcript Introduction "I must stress that I only use this word because it happens to be the absolute truth, and I consider false modesty to be little better than braggadocio. But I'm what one might call a genius. My parents are scholars, philosophers, intellectuals. And they raised me to understand and appreciate all branches of art and science." "Oh..." Nevis glanced at Ryli, who was kneeling down beside Yaealina, tending to the half-elf's injury. But she didn't seem perturbed by this development in the slightest. "Now, given this revelation, you're no doubt wondering why I chose to drop articles, refer to myself in the third person, and generally give the impression that I was possessed of the stupidity for which my people are so frequently -- and rather unjustly -- known." "Uh..." "When I first elected to join the rebellion against King Crenus, I spoke to local recruiters who knew my family. Alas, this meant that they were completely familiar with my abilities. Hence they expected me to devise battle tactics, ponder strategy, oversee the building of siege engines, and carry out a wide range of admittedly essential tasks which would have kept me far from the battlefield." "Isn't that... a good thing?" "For some, perhaps. But despite my great intelligence, I'm most filled with elation and exhilaration when I'm inflicting physical violence with an axe. Perhaps we should put this down to my orcish heritage, and consider it a victory for nature over nurture. But that's a matter for future scholarly forays." "So..." Chumgrak sighed. "I'm very clever but I prefer to chop people up with my axe. People who merit such a fate, of course. I'm not possessed of homicidal mania." "Ah..." Nevis looked at Ryli again, but she only smiled and continued administering her healing spell. Yaealina snorted -- causing flecks of crusted blood to fly from her nose. Under the circumstances, he felt it was up to him to do more than utter confused noises. "I saw you one night, coming down from the hill near camp. You were holding a lantern..." "I could hardly maintain my charade if I were seen enjoying a philosophical treatise or volume on astronomy. Thus I'm forced to read where no one will observe me." A voice sounded from the forest. "Nevis? Yaealina?" It was followed by the sound of many tramping feet. Chumgrak looked at the others, pressed a green finger against his lips, and winked. "Chumgrak killed mage!" "So I see," Carolyn said. She emerged from the trees, alongside a large band of their comrades -- many of them in scorched, torn, and bloodstained garb. "If I'd known they'd come this far, I'd have put some veterans with you." "Chumgrak doesn't need veterans. Chumgrak has axe!" "How badly are you hurt?" She moved over to Yaealina. "Just a broken nose," Ryli said. "I can mend it for her." "It was my fault," Nevis said. "She was fighting a soldier and I got in the way." "We'll have to work on that," Carolyn said. "In battle everyone needs to know what they're doing." Nevis nodded. The half-elf's eyes met his. *** The camp was a scene of revelry. If parts of it had resembled a tavern on the day of their arrival, that likeness was a hundredfold more pronounced when they were celebrating a victory. Meat roasted over dozens of fires -- perfuming the air with a melange of succulent scents. Those who'd remained behind to guard the camp hadn't been idle. They'd ensured hearty provisions for the returning heroes. Nor was there any shortage of ale, which seemed to flow in rivers. Even as a spectator, a guest at a grand celebration, Nevis would have loved the merrymaking and good cheer. But he and his friends found themselves lauded on all sides, patted on the back and congratulated for their first triumph on behalf of the rebellion -- small as it was. Someone even shoved a tankard of strong ale into the boy's hand. Laughter erupted a few seconds later, when he spat the beer out and spluttered, but there was no meanness in it. "Forever our champion, savior of us all, With him to guide our pitchforks the evil tyrant king shall fall, Tales of our glory will free grandchildren enthrall, Because we went to war." Drunken voices, Chumgrak's loud and fierce among them, raised martial songs and cheers to the heavens with such strength that Nevis wondered how the gods would sleep that night. After a while his head ached from the din and the smell of potent drink which seemed to hang over the entire camp. So he wandered off towards the hill, seeking a little soothing cold and quiet. But the summit had already been claimed. Yaealina stood there, staring up at the stars. Light and dark mingled in her eyes when they met his. "You'd never killed anyone before, had you?" he asked. "No." "But why-" "The first time, it was because I didn't want to lose face. After that, I couldn't change my story. And I knew I was skilled. I thought the lies would be true after the first battle. But I failed. You were braver than me." Nevis didn't know what to say, but his cheeks burned hot with her praise, her approval, the closeness of her eyes and breath and warmth. "Thank you," she said. She reached out for him. He pulled her close, and planted his clumsy lips on hers. Yaealina pushed him away. "Nevis!" She laughed. It wasn't her customary cold, cynical laugh. The amusement was warm and soft. But it still made Nevis cringe. "I... I thought..." She hugged him and released him. "No," she said. "I'm sorry, but... no." The half-elf laughed again and went down the hill. A moment later her voice drifted back to him. "Be careful. Nevis is feeling romantic tonight." This time her laughter continued till the drunken singing from the camp absorbed it. He sat down on the grass and wondered if the gods would do him a favor, by smiting him with a lightning bolt. Instead Ryli crested the hill and sat down in front of him -- making his humiliation complete. "You kissed her, didn't you?" Nevis merely nodded. The cleric leaned forward, and coaxed his head towards hers with a gentle hand till their noses touched. Hers was soft and smooth and moist. "Next time try a felpuur kiss," she said. "It isn't as embarrassing if it goes wrong." Twin moons shone in her eyes, transforming them into glittering jewels. *** "Theadric!" The cry broke into Nevis' jumbled dreams. "Theadric's back!" He sighed. That shout echoed through the camp, rousing those who were sleeping off the previous night's festivities. Except for Chumgrak, who lay face-down, still snoring. Apparently the bully had returned from yet another victory that would make people love him even more. Nevis rolled onto his side and pulled the blanket over his head. But the next cry made him throw it off again. "And he's brought the Kasan!" *** The moment you see them, you know. "They've had a blooming piss-up here, and no mistake." Hugh's right, of course. Men and women lie strewn about the camp, some still unconscious, others blinking and groaning as the daylight assaults their senses. "This goblin's got a knife through his hand," Rakshara says. She points at the unfortunate individual, who's sprawled across a small table, pinned there by the blade. He's somehow managed to fall asleep in that state. Tessa and one of your healers go over to assist him. "%name%..." Theadric says. His whole face twitches. "I promise you, this isn't-" "It's fine," you say. "It looks like they won a victory worth celebrating." "Or they robbed a bloody brewery." The Titaran picks up a mug of ale from the little battalion arranged on a board. His other hand pulls a pie from his knapsack. He shrugs and commences with breakfast. Theadric is still mortified, murmuring excuses, but there's no need. As soon as you entered the camp, you knew. The sentries were awake, alert at their posts. And for all the moaning drunkards there are others emerging from their tents or bedrolls little the worse for wear -- still elated from their latest triumph. This force may lack the discipline of the gold dragons, but their fighting spirit is palpable, their morale high. And you've already seen what some of them can do in battle. Yes... You can work with these rebels, and put your name on all their lips. Conclusion "Oh, hell..." Ardwick, sentry in the gold dragons, proud wearer of the king's colors, gasped the words. His comrades were less subdued. Their blasphemies and profanities threaded the air, and he doubted even the sternest god or goddess would rebuke them under the circumstances. "Light the signal fire," the sergeant said. Ardwick nodded, but he couldn't take his eyes off the teaming horde that darkened the horizon, beneath the bloody bloom of dawn. "Ardwick!" The sergeant grabbed his shoulders and shook him. "Go!" "Yes, sergeant!" He ran down from the lookout point hidden amongst the trees, leaving the others to pray or swear as the mood took them, groping for his tinderbox. It was in his hand as he sprinted towards the arcane brazier and tore aside its covering. Alchemical scents rose from the unveiled blend of powders, clawing at his nose. One spark and it would ignite. The magical smoke would soar up and warn General Berund that- Something scratched Ardwick's chest, splitting his purple jerkin with a soft whisper. He looked down and stared at the bloody steel which had somehow appeared there. Aya of the Kamamura withdrew her blade, letting blood gush in its wake, and pushed him aside. A kick sent the brazier over. Brightly colored powders scattered on the grass and spilled into the wind. Category:Civil War